


on a train to prague

by kryptic_pear



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptic_pear/pseuds/kryptic_pear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very roundabout response to this prompt: Arthur stays in the mind crime scene even after Cobb retires, and is hired for another seemingly impossible job due to his repute: extracting information from one of the best mind criminals in the field. Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on a train to prague

The phone rings and Arthur doesn't answer. This is how it starts.

\----------------

"Go ahead," says Arthur. "Look."

Eames doesn't look at him now, only says, "I'm not sure if I want to, darling."

He takes a few steps towards the door, they are the steps of a sleep-walker, shuffling and slow. Arthur can't help but watch him go. Eames sets his hand on the doorknob and pauses.

\----------------

Arthur opens the door and ponders how much longer until he's dead. The men around the table are dangerous and could care less what it means to have lost the ability to dream. Just like all the other jobs he takes now. He wonders when Saito will call again, only to never materialize. Arthur knows that Saito is scared, scared of being trapped, but that he misses dreams. Everyone does, eventually.

He sits at the table, one hand possessive on the PASIV. It's only a decoy, in case something goes wrong, but it looks enough like the real thing to fool anyone but Arthur.

They look at one another, finally a man speaks, “If one can steal a thought, can’t one plant one?"

Arthur tilts his head away, "Impossible." Impossible to do again, the secret of inception is one he will take to his grave, though he knows it's only a short while before other teams attempt it. They don’t seem much put out by his refusal.

"Alright, then there is only one option. You must con one of your own."

"Of my own? I assure you gentleman, there's no one quite like me."

Their eyes flicker to one another, they're nervous, but in the way of powerful men. The man at the head of the table speaks, he is dressed traditionally, a true Dubai businessman, "Something was taken from me, something I did not want stolen. You must find who the thief sold it to."

Arthur shrugs, simple, he says with the line of his shoulders. "Who's the mark?"

"A forger, we believe his name is-"

"Eames." Arthur finishes, they don't have audacity to pretend to be surprised. He stands hand firm on the briefcase, "Ten million."

"Done."

\----------------

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Arthur closes his eyes, "Fort Pendleton, California." The seagulls cry outside the window, fighting against the storm.

"No, the first time."

Arthur opens his eyes again and looks at Eames, confused.

"Baghdad," Eames murmurs as a hot wind blows through the room and the sound of the chandeliers knocking together for a moment is the sound of dog tags clinking. "That is when I fell in love with you," he says and Arthur shivers, hand tightening on his glass.

\----------------

The door opens and an old woman looks at him, she has the drawn face of a woman who has lived alone for so long she no longer cares for company. Arthur does not attempt a smile, merely shifts on his feet and waits.

"Come in," she says finally, moving aside.

The place is filled with books, shelves line every wall and in the bit of sun that peaks through a dusty window Arthur can almost see a child-shaped place amongst all the clutter, he can almost hear a voice from down the hall. He walks to the fireplace while she makes tea, running his fingers over the spines of the books huddled above the seemingly never-used hearth. Oedipus, Anna Karenina and The Count of Monte Cristo crowd along side collections of Sherlock Holmes and Dickinson's poetry. The corner of a photo peeks out, he pulls it loose and examines the grinning schoolboy..

"My son has been dead for six years now," she says quietly, "Why can't they just leave his memory alone?"

Arthur looks back at her, "Madam, I simply wanted to tell you that your son was not a traitor."

She looks unmoved, "You knew him?"

"Not well."

They take their tea in silence.

\----------------

Arthur's phone rings and he picks it up, "Where are you?"

"What does retired mean?"

He hangs up the phone.

\----------------

"I still have dreams Arthur," she says, staring up at the Arc de Triomphe. "They're beautiful and chaotic and they don't have to mean anything."

"I can't construct my own, I'm a terrible architect," he says, alright with pleading because he knows he'll never win.

"I hate this stupid arch," Ariadne says, turning away, "Jean Chalgrin had no imagination, yet we come here by the thousands to admire it."

"It's not your fault, you know," he says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

She looks him in the eye and sighs, "Then who's? I can't live in a world with no answers anymore, Arthur."

\----------------

"You ruined the whole thing, you ass!"

"Me! Darling, watch where you're pointing those fingers, who was supposed to research the mark? I believe that's you. There's little else you do, maybe you could get your one job right."

Arthur shoves him, "You waltzed in there and fucked it all to hell on purpose."

Eames' eyes are dangerous, "Careful, love, don't want to hurt yourself."

"So who is it? Who hired you to mess this up? You fucking traitor."

"Oh that's rich, that's fucking rich. We both know you're being courted by-"

"Shut up," says Arthur low and furious, madder than he's ever been at Eames. He can't stand the man, with his pet names and nonchalance. But this is different, this is real anger and Arthur burns with it.

Eames pushes up into his space, "Make me, love." Arthur watches his mouth form the words as if in slow motion, then as if to make up for the delay time speeds up again. Arthur's fist connects with Eames jaw at the same time Eames' hands are in his shirt gripped tight. He sees stars when the back of his head hits the wall, but he jams his fist into Eames’ throat. Eames chokes, scrabbling for Arthur’s hands, but Arthur’s caught up to time now and he sweeps Eames’ feet out from under him, driving him to the floor.

Eames pulls him down as well, broad fingers firm against his skull. They kiss only for a second, but it’s enough to stop Arthur’s anger in it’s tracks, less a kiss and more a brutal collision of mouths, teeth clacking together. Something different, cold and swelling fills his chest like water being poured in and he wants to gasp for air. Arthur is gone in an instant, motions panicked and jerky, he flees the room without a backward glance.

\----------------

"I don't like that boy, Dom," Mal says, quite so only he can hear. "He's too brittle for dreams, he'll only get broken."

Dom turns away, "He was the only one worth teaching, besides, Eames likes him."

Mal looks away, inclining her flute of champagne as if to salute some invisible figure, "They'll only break each other."

"That's what they said about us," Dom says, easy and sure.

\----------------

He tries to imagine Eames studying, laughing with this man, doing all of the typical college activities and fails. Vincent Grenadine is largely unimpressive, angular and sharp, with a direct gaze. Certainly not the type to have friends in spades.

"He was always so sure that there was something more out there, something bigger," Grenadine says, the lilt of a French accent curling his words. "Maybe he found it."

\----------------

Cobb sits alone in the room, shoulders slumped. He doesn't move at the noise of the door opening, though after a moment his head raises.

"Mal?"

On the floor, the top lies still.

\----------------

"Where is the liaison?"

"I don't know."

"Dammit Arthur, this is no time for misplaced loyalty. That man has the nation's secrets in his hands, just think what he could do."

Arthur looks up and the man sighs, "Arthur, he was no one's friend truly."

"I quit."

"That's a laugh. Not as long as the Cobb's are still here. You're not as mysterious as you like to think, Arthur, you're nothing without them."

Arthur looks at his hands, "Eames said you would tell me that."

"Yes well, Mr. Eames had us all tied around his finger, didn't he?"

Traitor, Arthur thinks to himself, you're a dirty traitor.

\----------------

"How long have I been dreaming?" Arthur says calmly, sipping his drink. Holding the glass means that Eames won't be able to see the shaking in his hands. Arthur is thrown, it is as if the very thought of Eames has conjured the man himself, right into the dreamscape. He looks at the crowd of projections and recognizes too many of them as friends and family. He doesn’t think he can do this much longer.

"Can't tell you that."

"Where's my body?"

"Safely aboard the train headed for Prague."

Arthur takes a drink and sighs, "Well, I might as well enjoy it I suppose."

"That you might, love, that you might," and Arthur thinks he might see a smile there. He thinks about a crumpled napkin in a dirty bar and thinks maybe this time things will be different.

"How long have you known I was coming?"

"You found my mother."

Arthur shrugs, he's good at his job, always has been. Eames looks away, watching the dancers on the floor. "So I found you-" Arthur pauses and revises, "Well, you found me, but that's beside the point, why like this Eames?"

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Arthur closes his eyes, "Fort Pendleton, California." The seagulls cry outside the window, fighting against the storm.

\----------------

“Arthur, please call me back.”

\----------------

Arthur can taste blood in his mouth, inside he feels that same cold strange feeling. He pushes it back, trying to hold onto his anger. Eames just looks sad, he’s holding the handle of the PASIV with loose fingers. “I just can’t do it any more love, we all know your bloody military is just using us,” he says, voice soft and torn away by the wind.

Arthur feels like crying in a way he hasn’t since he was a small child, “You’re an idiot, they’ll call you a traitor.” I’m not going with you, is what he’s really saying.

The smile on Eames’ lips is bitter at best, downright heartbreaking at worst, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“If I’m not selling these secrets, who will? The world deserves a shot at this research,” Arthur says, like he’s practiced in the mirror.

Eames just laughs, “You can tell yourself that darling, but I can always tell when you lie. You’re a conman at heart, just like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Arthur spits, feeling a spark of that familiar irritation.

“We’re more alike than you know.”

There are shouts from down the hall, Arthur turns to look, mostly because he doesn’t think he can watch Eames walk away. “You should go now, before they get here.”

When he turns back, Eames is gone, he never even made a sound.

\----------------

"No, the first time."

Arthur opens his eyes again and looks at Eames, confused.

"Baghdad," Eames murmurs as a hot wind blows through the room and the sound of the chandeliers knocking together for a moment is the sound of dog tags clinking. “That is when I fell in love with you,” he says and Arthur shivers, hand tightening on his glass.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“And why not?” says Eames with a careless smile, “Why shouldn’t I? After all, it’s only a dream darling.”

Arthur shakes his head, “You shouldn’t say it because I might start believing you.”

Eames’ face stills, his eyes narrow as if Arthur is something new and unthought of. Arthur gets off of the stool and offers a hand, “Dance with me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it’s something ridiculous and indulgent that he would never allow himself to do in real life. But something in him has known for a long time that this job was never going to go as planned.

When Eames takes his hand they don’t speak. On the dance floor now, they simply sway, Eames’ cheek brushes Arthur’s temple and his hand is firm on Arthur’s hip. Arthur has never done this with a man, a slow and uncounted waltz. He doesn’t know why Eames indulges him in it, or maybe he does, he’s simply chosen to forget. Over the line of Eames’ shoulder he watches the glimmering couples move around them in time to the music. Their eyes rest on Eames with unflinching blankness.

“You’re running out of time down here, Eames,” Arthur says finally.

“Time for what?”

Arthur smiles at his acted naivete, “I recognize this layout, it’s what you used for that job with the banker. There’s a strong room in the top suite. I know you want to look.”

“I would never invade your privacy like that, darling,” Eames says, pressing his nose into Arthur’s hair.

“I want you to. I want you to look.”

Eames pulls back and looks at him, then nods. There’s something strange in his eyes, Arthur is beginning to think it might be sadness. They walk to the elevator together and do not touch each other again.

\----------------

“Est-ce que tu as vu l’homme qui serait ici?”

The bartender looks up from his cellphone and shrugs, “Euh, ouais, je pense que il serait anglaise, peut-etre.”

“Merci,” Arthur murmurs and looks at the empty spot with irritation, just like Eames to slip out on him, even without knowing Arthur was coming. About to go, Arthur spots a napkin crumpled on the bar. He can just make out the stains of ballpoint ink and he grabs it after a moment of hesitation. Smoothing out the napkin on the bar he can just make out the words:

I never locked you up, you were already locked in,  
I looked into your eyes and found my own sweet sin,  
As long as you put up these walls, I’ll never find your heart,  
But time and time I come back to find you’ve fa-

Arthur looks at it a moment longer, wondering when it got so cold. He carefully folds the napkin and tucks it into his pocket. Arthur thanks the bartender again before heading out, he thinks of Dickinson and Byron sitting on a shelf and wonders if he will ever really understand the man he’s chasing.

\----------------

He’s never met a man as smart as Dominic Cobb. Arthur’s no dim bulb, hand-picked from MIT, he knows what it means to understand more than the average man. But Cobb can see the very connections between quarks if he tries. Cobb can imagine every possible solution and get you to believe in lies made of string and tape.

Arthur doesn’t know where this job will lead him, but he knows he’s never going to turn back. No, if Cobb will lead the way, he will jump off every cliff just to see it through. The first time projections rip Arthur to shreds he watches Cobb’s face the whole time and he thinks, I would die for this man a thousand times, if only to get inside his head.

\----------------

“Deposit five million into my account now, I’ll collect the rest when I bring the information to you,” Arthur says, as calm as if he’s asked to borrow a pen.

“How do we know you won’t just run off with the money?”

“You don’t.”

\----------------

“What was she like in real life?”

“She was lovely.”

And she was. Mal was sharp-edged and dangerous, but when she smiled it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. She could calm her husband with a single touch. Arthur remembered her best in dreams, where she could construct works of art with hardly a thought and make a man find God in the curve of an arch or the twist of a spire.

\----------------

They stand in the elevator together in silence, the walls are mirrored and Arthur watches them repeat into eternity. They are standing close enough to touch, but too far to know it.

\----------------

“Hello darling, you look like you could use a good time,” the woman says in Arthur’s ear. He flinches, “Fucking hell, Eames, back off.”

She pulls back looking pissed, “Eames? What sort of name is that?”

Arthur stares at her in surprise, he’s in Bruges and she’s only a hooker. He’s not dreaming at all.

\----------------

Ariadne watches his face, her hands are folded neatly in her lap. “It can’t be true,” she says softly.

Arthur looks at the clock, “I’m afraid so.”

\----------------

"Go ahead," says Arthur. "Look."

Eames doesn't look at him now, only says, "I'm not sure if I want to, darling."

He takes a few steps towards the door, they are the steps of a sleep-walker, shuffling and slow. Arthur can't help but watch him go. Eames sets his hand on the doorknob and pauses, looks back. Arthur gives him a slanted smile, “Come now, surely your curiosity’s stronger than that.”

Eames looks back to the door and pushes it open. Cobb sits alone in the room, shoulders slumped. He doesn't move at the noise of the door opening, though after a moment his head raises.

"Mal?"

On the floor, the top lies still.

“No, no, it’s not Mal,” Eames says, hushed and pained.

“I should never have looked, Mal, why did I look at their faces? I just want to go home.”

Eames shivers, he wants to leave but can’t. “Cobb, it’s not Mal, it’s Eames, Eames.” He steps closer, but Cobb doesn’t move. Another step and another until he’s close enough to put a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. Cobb looks up and there are tears on his face, “I just want to go home,” he says. In his lap he holds a gun.

\----------------

Baghdad tastes like dirt to Arthur, bitter and choking. He slants his eyes against the sun and follows his commander into the building. They move methodical and slow, checking each room for would-be assailants. Arthur has already shot three men and he thinks he might be sick.

They reach the top room, where a lone window looks out on the city. He can see billows of smoke, it looks like the city is burning, though he knows it’s probably only a car bomb. In the center of the room there’s a man tied to a chair, his head is down and Arthur can’t see his face, but he can see the trails of sweat down his arms and beading at his temples. There’s blood on his head, but Arthur can’t tell where it’s come from.

A soldier prods him with a gun and the man moans a little. “Give us the number,” the soldier growls.

Arthur wonders how long they’ve been at this. Suddenly, the man lifts his head and Arthur stares into shocking blue eyes. “I’ll never tell you,” he spits.

His commander motions, “Come on boy, give it a shot, we’ve got to get something out of this bastard or the COs will never give us leave.”

He steps forward, tilting the man’s chin up with the end of his gun, “Alright, now, give us the number, or we’re going to have to do something none of us want.” The man spits in Arthur’s face, Arthur’s only twenty-three and he takes a step back and shoots the man in the knee.

The man screams and oddly enough it reminds him of the rabbit that his father once caught in a trap he set out in the garden. It’s leg was caught in the trap and it’s cries sounded like a person’s screams. Arthur remembers the sound as his father broke its neck.

Arthur suddenly looks at the man again, he looks out at Baghdad, then back and blows the man’s head off.

To his right his commander takes his helmet off and it’s Cobb, Mal is standing in the corner looking grim and a stranger stands to her right, unreadable, Arthur assumes he’s a projection.

“How did you figure out it was a dream?” asks Cobb.

“The man’s scream, it reminded me of something- I just, suddenly I knew.”

Cobb nods, “Two levels isn’t enough to trick the mind, we’ll have to try deeper.”

Arthur keeps a tight grip on his gun to hide the shaking in his hands, but he thinks Mal sees because she comes over and sets a hand on his shoulder. “You did well, you learn very quickly,” she says, because Cobb never will. Arthur shakes his head and suddenly it’s all too much, he pukes on the dead man’s shoes. From the corner, Eames watches and falls in love.

\----------------

“You don’t understand Arthur, I thought I was awake. I knew it.”

“But you weren’t."

“But I thought I was. Doesn’t that make a difference?”

“No, it doesn’t, look Cobb, I’ve got to go. I have a job to attend to.”

“I see. A job.”

“I don’t think it would be wise for you to go back under, Cobb, not in your state. I told them you were retired.”

“In my state, what is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, I really can’t talk. I’ve got to go.”

\----------------

Yusuf pushes the IV into his arm, “Goodnight,” he says with a small smile.

Arthur gives a brisk nod and is gone in seconds.

When he awakes Yusuf tells him about a possible job with some Oil Tycoons in Dubai. Something special and they’re trying to find the best.

\----------------

Arthur wakes with a sharp intake of breath as always, as if he is just emerging from water. The train is rattling onward, the pane of glass in the window knocking around. Across from him, Eames is just waking up. His eyes are on Arthur, “Oh, darling,” he says and Arthur finds the tears he thought would never come.

\----------------

The phone rings and Arthur doesn't answer.

“Arthur, it’s Cobb. I think- I think I’ve finally figured it out. I’m going home, Arthur.

If you don’t- If I’m wrong-

No, I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like you really care, I mean, you’re only a part of my-

Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry for all I’ve put you through. You’ve always been there for me. So if something goes wrong, I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ve got to go now. I’ve got to go home.”

This is how it starts.


End file.
